


The Long and Sad Story of the Chosen One and the Stoic Who Loved Him

by provectilejomiting



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Erotic Poetry, M/M, Poetry, Writing Trade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provectilejomiting/pseuds/provectilejomiting
Summary: Told through a series of (occasionally nonsensical) words and poems.





	1. When It Goes To Shit

When It Goes to Shit

You will be unready.  
There was never a good time,  
but Force,  
It wasn’t time yet.  
If you’d prepped it out  
Like yourself - like something you know you’d do -  
If you’d sat yourself down with some tea  
(with his wife)  
If you had dedicated months of time to meditating over everything  
that could have been wrong,  
If you’d grown stronger teeth; grit them a little tighter and swallowed  
all of your sharp and glowing  
let it sink and burn  
like everything you left behind with him  
(with his wife)

Could you have shortcut recovery,  
cried it out,  
revolutioned yourself into  
a fixed slate of blank-eyed stoic-  
You heroic bastard.  
You zen-master soul-ache,  
you’ve sweat yourself into nightmares where he’s still  
Grasping for you like,  
god,  
He’s reaching at you with all of this fire in his fingers  
and his face and his voice like,  
god,  
maybe you were both just too flammable,  
If you’d only  
taught him  
Better.  
If you’d taught him to burn a little softer,  
that boy,  
Didn’t know a thing about soft,  
he knew everything about burning.  
He taught you everything you knew.  
Didn’t he?

 

You just  
weren’t ready yet.


	2. When He Teaches You

He’s buried himself warmly into the Chosen One  
and he sometimes wonders  
if it’s intimacy  
or if he was coaxed  
or if this is just  
him lying to himself;  
Floating down a river of apprehension  
on his back  
with his eyes closed  
and calling it meditation.  
He must feel   
so goddamn special.

“Anakin,  
your behavior before the council today  
was embarrassing  
and inappropriate and-”  
“Master,  
let me   
show you  
Embarrassing and Inappropriate.”

So his Master lets him teach.  
Just for the evening.  
And he must feel  
so goddamn special.


	3. When He Begs

When He Begs

You’ve seen people bend like this in worship.  
On their knees and elbows, back flat and straight and breakable, head bowed to something greater than them. Perhaps not naked, perhaps not crying. But given the fragility of the situation, you’ll allow for subtle differences and minute shifts in setting, in pose, in metaphor...you are a patient god.  
His hair has grown so much in the past year. It’s long, piecey. You can imagine yourself stuffing a fist with it. You can imagine it halo-splayed on a mattress, his eyes rolling back in his head, mouth moving shocked and silent, you say he’s praying for you; he’s praying for more of you. This is a lie you tell yourself because the Chosen One never prays for you: he begs.   
You fold forward to bite him from behind and the crook of his neck smells like tuberose. You know it’s because he was hoping you would come.  
You’ve got his hips in your unkind hands, and he’s quietly crying. There will be bruises in a few minutes, aching personal reminders.  
He doesn’t ask to come,  
though you would probably let him if he did.  
He begs.  
It’s all the difference.  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,  
Master,  
fuck, please, please, please, please,  
please, please, please,  
please, please, please…”  
It  
Is the most polite  
You’ve ever heard him.


End file.
